


Artifice et Guile

by peoriapeoria



Series: The Private Casebook of J.H.W. [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crossdressing, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is a master of disguise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artifice et Guile

It happened quite suddenly, as I had found things often to do when Holmes was involved. Perhaps he had planned it, though how I do not know. I prefer to remain with the facts, a habit more Holmes' than my own.

"Watson, I need you." The words had startled me. In action and deed Holmes had been saying as much from early on in our shared habitation. I wondered what might have so stymied him that the words had came to that most independent of men.

He was in his room, cuffs and waistcoat off, standing before the bed. I could not help noticing the ruffle draping over the edge. "Holmes."

"Demonstrate that knowledge of women and be my dresser." Holmes continued undressing.

"What?"

Holmes turned, his long fingers holding his collar. "Perhaps it is to foil just this sort of deception, but modern fashionable ladies' clothing requires at least one attendant."

Holmes had demonstrated his wide scope of disguise before, but the sheer hubris of this attempt startled me.

"You wonder if my little sense has fled. If I am so ill-acquainted with the fairer sex to think I can be taken for one. Would you flee if I told you I have played both Ophelia and Desdemona to great acclaim?"

"I'd think Hamlet and Iago more to your skills. What is the object of such credulity?" Holmes did not respond to the bait, but merely kept his eyes on me like the glove against the cheek. "I do not think it can be done, but far be it for me to hinder you. Call me when you are ready. I shall lock the door."

I must say that no sculptor has been ever more startled at what was within the stone as I was when I looked up from my task. I believe I may have blushed, so much like a woman did he appear. Only his height and somewhat liberal cosmetics separated him from the better classes of the female clients that had so often graced the sitting room.

Exactly how I ended up at the party has been stripped from my brain by subsequent events. Holmes had been perpetuating his masquerade for weeks, giving me wonder at what trousseau he had prepared. I almost think he would have liked to sprung the dresses on me unseen. Looking back, I wonder that nothing was made of the woman that was forever disappearing and appearing at 221 Baker Street.

Exactly who was hosting the party is unimportant. In those days many entertained foreign dignitaries. Old names and new money met to make acquaintance. Both flocked to Holmes that night.

I had followed Holmes, or rather 'Iolanthe', into the gardens and away from the crowded dance floor. Thanks to a desire to flaunt the new electric lights, it was only a partial moon that night.

I had spent the night avoiding the illusionary decolletage. Instead I had fixated on the quite remarkable pearl choker encasing Holmes' neck.

"Doctor Watson." Holmes took my arm in a most coquettish manner. "You seem distracted." I have wrote that in a previous age Holmes would have burned at the stake. The thought was never more entertained than at that moment.

"You admire my jewelry. They were my mother's." Those were the last words I heard before I found myself drawn up and kissed. I had but a moment to wonder who had come across us before the dry press of lips turned into something more for Versailles than an English garden. I took charge of the situation, moving Iolanthe further into the shadows.

Holmes kissed me for minutes longer, then pulled haughtily away. As many can attest from similar encounters, though what could be truly like this occurrence, it was the eyes that gave away the game. I believe I was sent home. Holmes did not appear until late and must have made a scandalous appearance letting himself in during the small hours. He skimmed to his room and I followed in his wake.

"Watson."

I entered his room, falling to my dresser duties. It really is quite remarkable that ladies' garments do not further restrict the Empire's population. I turned to leave once I had Holmes unlaced, still wearing the jewels.

"Watson." This time it was searching. I had the sense to stay, and Holmes went to his mirror, grabbing up a cloth and a jar.

"Permit me." I undid the clasp and drew away the choker. I held the pearls reverently. "Were they really your mother's?"

"And hers. Fortunate that they all had long necks." Holmes dropped the earrings at me and gestured at the heavy box. I was still looking at them when he left in his dressing gown.

"Pour yourself a drink, Watson." Holmes got his pipe settled and started swathing his head in a blue haze. "Yes, I'll return the casket to Mycroft before the maid comes."

"Have you concluded your case?"

"Only one or two hanging threads to clip. I can handle them on my own."

I sat holding my glass for some time before downing the contents and crossing to Holmes. I pulled away his pipe and pressed my mouth to his. My encouragement caught and his mouth became consuming.

"Watson."

I pulled back slightly, just until I could look him in the eyes. "You wish to talk. This has taken you by surprise." I walked back to the sideboard, refreshed my glass and poured one for Holmes. Giving the one to him, I resumed my chair.

"Do you really wish to pursue this?" Holmes got up, his pipe stem rapping against his gown. He stood there glowering, dashed back his drink and knocked out his bowl. "Come then."

Holmes pulled me into his room, locking the door and setting the key in plain sight. "Decide now, Watson." It was a formality as he was onto me instantly. I've mentioned both his great strength and his delicacy of touch. Their combination was a revelation. My shirt was open when he pushed me onto the edge of his bed. He sat my cuff-links and then my cuffs on the nightstand. His hands returned lower and I captured his wrists.

"Take this off first." Holmes froze and I took the liberty of removing it and the other garments, caressing his smooth skin. Unclothed, Holmes is exceptionally thin, his broad shoulders accentuating his narrow torso. All sinew and sinuous. I undid the last of my buttons and pushed us both under the covers.

Holmes remastered himself and straddled me, stealing my breath. He kept me pinned, grinding out the most tortuous pleasure. I sought every and any hold, eager to improve his passion.

Completed, it was my turn to pin him, as he tried pulling away. "Why now, why me." I kissed him slowly, on his neck, his face, on his so jutting shoulders. I pressed a closed mouth kiss to his lips. "I'm honored." I kept one arm around him and likewise lower.

In the morning I realised what a foolish risk I had made. The sun was well up and I was still naked in Holmes' bed. Alone, I looked around and saw that the jewelry box was gone and the door key was still in its place. I didn't question that the door was locked.

Holmes' moods would protect my virtue as long as I stayed put. I washed and partly redressed, grateful to find my dressing gown tossed over a chair. This was insanity. How could we keep this quiet? That thought held me tight until I thought back to Holmes' tight embrace. As preposterous as it might seem, that was enough to calm my trepidation. And as time would prove, I was right to discount such fears.

I was rousted from my daydreams by Holmes and pushed from the room. I first changed to more appropriate trousers for the hour and similarly my shirt. Redonning my dressing gown, I went to the sitting room.

Holmes did not resurface. The time passed, well beyond what was needed for verisimilitude. I picked at my supper before I gave up, locked the door and went to Holmes' door.

I almost tumbled into the room when at length he abruptly opened the door. He caught me and then pulled back as if catching himself.

"Holmes."

"I should not have involved you. It was, an experiment."

"Was it agreeable?" It would never do to be cloying. Most importantly, I saw it was not me Holmes was trying to convince.

"Watson."

"Since that was your first trial, you might wish to confirm the results." I let him stare. "Holmes, I can only imagine why someone as reckless as yourself would refrain for so long. I don't mean from men. You really aren't a misogynist; the fairer sex simply holds no attraction. I will admit a certain ease to find you've not taken to other avenues."

"Watson."

"What made you try the experiment at this juncture?"

"What made you kiss back?"

"How could I not? So, you've returned the jewels to Mycroft?"

"Yes. Watson, you know I'm difficult. I will ignore you during cases, and need you fiercely between them. You are right in your summations. I..."

"I have no more experience in these particulars than you. Beyond my medical training and those three continents of women. We will solve this one together."

The End


End file.
